The New Flame Alchemist
by Thousand Sunny Lyon
Summary: One man holds the fate of Riza Hawkeye in his hands, to the absolute fury of her superior officer to whom her secret was bound. RoyAi.
1. Chapter 1: Wrested Control

**The New Flame Alchemist**

**Chapter 1**

The trees leaned dangerously the one side, buffeted by the gale-force winds. Branches creaked and swept aside, the few leaves slow to succumb to the ripening autumn fluttering and twisting madly on the end of their tiny stems in the wind. The sky had a grayish hue against the blue from the amount of dust carried along in the whipping air. A few garbage cans rolled and bumped down the streets, banging and clanging hollowly as if escaping some oncoming threat that no amount of dirty diapers or rotten vegetables could compare to. Discarded bits of trash and leaves whirled and flipped along the sidewalks, dust and dirt gliding under them like the waves and eddies of a dry river. With her jacketed arm thrown over her eyes, the First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye forced the vehicle door open into the face of the oncoming gale and pulled herself out, letting the wind slam the door shut hard beside her. A sudden gust pushed her hard enough to stumble to the side as she fought the key into the lock, but she regained her footing and secured the door.

Riza Hawkeye hated windy days.

All day in the office, the typhoon had everyone wound up and tense as windows whistled and howled with wind slipping through the gaps, the eerie sound sending shivers down the spines of even the seasoned war veterans. The situation deteriorated when a broken branch shattered the window behind the Colonel's desk and showered him with glass. It became impossible for anyone to get any work done after that point and the rest of the time had been spent reorganizing the paperwork that had been blown about the office.

For the sake of everyone's safety, a general consensus was made to go home early that day. It was dangerous enough to travel in the daylight hours, it would be downright foolish to attempt it at night. Even as everyone gathered their long coats, the power finally cut out. With the wind not showing any signs of slowing down, it would be quite a while before power was restored. Conversation was nonexistent as Hawkeye drove the Colonel home, all her concentration focused on controlling the car and watching various debris being flung in front of her. The two exchanged polite and hurried farewells and Hawkeye carefully made her way home through the windstorm.

During the walk up to the door of her apartment, a piece of cardboard hit her side, nearly knocking her into the small patch of grass lining the black iron scrollwork fence in front of the building. Hawkeye quickly regained her footing and hurried up the few steps to her door, hunched over her keyring to shove the correct one into the lock. Another strong gust pushed her through the open door along with a troop of leaves. Hawkeye shut and deadbolted the door with an air of finality, then turned to frown at the mess scattered around half the wood floors of her apartment.

"Hayate?" She called out for the little dog while removing her coat and waist cape, draping both over one of the dining room chairs. She looked around, but her canine companion didn't come running to her for attention like he usually did when she came home. Hayate must be out, which worried her. For a dog that size, a gust of wind would literally blow him away. Frowning lightly, she walked into the bathroom to clean up.

The wind had been a problem in Ishval, too. It was a blessing her hair had been short back then or it would have looked just as it did now, and more full of dirt and sand. A good portion of her hair had been pulled free from the clip and her bangs splayed wildly all over her face. Hawkeye pulled the clip from her hair and shook out her blonde locks, feeling the grit of dust clinging to it. A good, long shower was in order. Setting the clip aside, she leaned in closer to the mirror and reached for her brush. A heavy hand slammed down around hers and gripped it tightly enough to cause pain. Riza gasped and turned, simultaneously pulling back hard to escape. Even as she reached behind for her gun, the figure snatched it out of its holster just before she could touch it. It all happened too fast, and she found herself pressed achingly backwards over the bathroom sink, her hand twisted sharply at the wrist and her own gun's barrel pressed to her side. Hawkeye looked up at the man- it was a man, she realized, one that looked familiar somehow with his dark brown hair, fair skin and narrow, hazel eyes- with eyes winced in pain. Her free hand froze in midair, unable to reach the gun in her shoulder holster.

"That's right, don't move," he growled softly, leaning in until his face was mere inches from her own, his moist breath warming her lips. "I don't need you alive, but if you behave, you may just survive this, Riza Hawkeye. Now, put your hands behind your head, slowly."

Trying to control her breathing despite her speeding heartbeat, Hawkeye did as he said. The man guided her bound hand close to her head before releasing it, and she pressed both hands to the back of her head. Her mind raced to find a way out, a way to gain the advantage in this situation, planning ahead on how to respond if he moved in certain ways and what to do if she could get outside, but as long as the weapon pressed to her vital organs there was no way to manage a safe escape. The barrel of the gun slid up her body until it rested in the soft tissue under her chin, and it was then that he removed her last gun. His motions were painfully slow, maintaining full control over Hawkeye and of the situation.

"Lay face down on the floor, hands on the back of your head." He took a step back to allow for movement, gun still trained on her head. Hawkeye pushed herself painfully from the counter, and realized that the man was dressed in a military officer's uniform now that she could get a good look at him.

"Slowly!"

She nodded and slid slowly to the floor onto her knees, then lowered herself to her stomach. On the way down she looked to her right, to the shower he had emerged from. It had frosted glass doors instead of a curtain, and it seemed he had slipped through the slightly opened doors from his hiding spot in the bottom of the tub. He came from below and to the side, that's why she hadn't seen him in the mirror. Laying still beyond the frosted glass was a blurred mass of black and white... Black Hayate. Something clutched within her at the sight of her beloved pet laying still from the hands of an enemy, most likely dead. But she had no time to mourn him.

Finally her hands clasped above her head, cheek pressed to the cold tile of the bathroom floor. There had to be a way out of this, Hawkeye couldn't be bested so easily! There had to be one moment, just one split second that she had a chance to exploit and get away. She heard a brief brush of clothing moving, then a small metallic sound. What was going on? The gun barrel pressed to the back of her neck.

"Don't move."

Despite the warning, she jumped slightly from a sharp pinch at her shoulder, but it only lasted a second. An injection! A firearm she understood, but whatever the metal syringe held was an unknown that could lead to something worse than instant death. Her hands flew to the floor and pushed herself up, head also pushing up and rolling away from the muzzle. Instead of fighting against her, the man jumped back into the doorway and slid the gun away into his pocket. The confident smirk on his face worried her, but as she scrambled to her feet with limbs a lot heavier than she remembered, her slowed reflexes were much more worrisome to her.

"What.. did you do?" Hawkeye stumbled sideways into the shower door, one hand grasping the handle with the other pressed against the glass for stability.

"Goodnight, Riza Hawkeye," he murmured. His hazel eyes glinted with a predatory air.

The strength in her body gave out almost all at once. Hawkeye's vision went dim just before her eyes lost the ability to remain open all the way, and her hand slid down the glass with a small squeak. She crumbled into a heap and fell onto her side. _I can't move_- was her last thought before the world faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2: On the Move

**AN**: This is not beta'd, so excuse any errors or mistakes.

**Disclaimer**: For some reason, I still don't own this series. Probably better this way.

**Chapter 2**

The events of warehouse "13" prepared him somewhat for the antics of his ridiculously superstitious team, but it didn't make him any less irritated. Each otherworldly howl of wind that slipped through the cracks between the windows brought a standstill to all work accompanied by hasty glances among the other occupants in the room. He would swear on his rank he saw even his most level-headed subordinate glance to the windows a time or two when she thought no one was looking.

Everything had all gone to hell when the tree nearest to the window had succumbed to the strong winds. A shower of glass shards fell on the Colonel and he'd barely managed to cover most of his head before the glass reached him. Unfortunately, his arms weren't cover enough and little cuts now adorned the back of his head and neck. The bad news didn't end there. Once the windows were open for the wind to get through, it _did_.

A swirling maelstrom of papers, envelopes, thin copper wire (part of Fuery's latest repair project), and various other office detritus effectually ended the workday. No one was much help to get things put in proper order: Havoc had leaped back from his desk and cowered behind the coat rack (granted, the wire whipped wildly in his direction, but _still_); Breada at first tried to smack his hands down on any flying bit of paper until three cuts from the wire (he made sure they all knew the number as if it merited a damned Purple Heart) forced him to beat a hasty retreat under his desk; Fuery bravely tried to rescue his copper wire but was all the more dismayed to suddenly realize he lost a number of small parts no one but him knew the purpose of, which elicited a short stream of curses that gave his superior officers wide-eyed pause; Falman slipped a book over his own short stack of work and attempted to snatch his coworkers papers from the air whilst dodging the whipping wire; and Hawkeye watched on in horror as her two neat stacks of receipts, one completed and the next awaiting calculation into the budget, fluttered away and intermingled in the air. Lunging forward to stop the rest from escaping spilled what was left into a fanned out mess on her desk. The Colonel sympathized with his Lieutenant who, faced with the complete loss of an entire day's work, touched her forehead to her desk with a groan and covered her head with her arms. So, in a single fateful moment, the entire team faced a setback of work that would take days to recover from, especially given that their office would be closed off until the window was repaired and the broken glass cleaned up.

_Perfect._

A hot shower. He needed a hot shower, a small dinner and a stiff drink. The shower taken at the office didnt count as "relaxing" to him, but it was needed, especially after he'd threaded his fingers through his hair and earned a jab in a fingertip from a shard of glass in the process. Roy tossed his coat onto the coat tree and ran his hands down his spare uniform. The adrenaline and coffee that allowed him to survive the day following the attack of the tree wore off over an hour ago. Exhaustion hung heavy on his limbs as if he were wearing a wet rug. Being home, finally home, allowed him to really unwind and become somewhat human for a while, something he looked forward to every day. It was always better with a little female company, but he understood that Riza needed to recover from the day's events her own way.

To drown out the buffeting wind outside, he flipped on the radio in passing and let the soft tunes carry him away from his present troubles and onto dance floors with live bands, dressed to the nines. He was smiling when he entered the bathroom and turned on the shower water.

Later, dressed in naught but a towel, he collapsed with a long, drawn-out sigh into his favorite chair, an amber drink with ice clinking in his hand. He put his feet up on the ottoman and considered the stack of personnel files on the coffee table in between sips.

It wasn't work; not exactly. It was a review of all the new transfers under his command that he preferred to review personally. Sometimes his activities bordered on sketchy in the eyes of those who sought to tear him down, and he needed to have an idea who those eyes might belong to. He couldn't have those files out of the Records Department too long, but on the other hand, he'd had enough problems with paperwork that day. Still, he had a short window in which to review those files before they had to be logged in and filed after a transfer, and so, humming softly in time with the music, he pulled over his notebook and the topmost file and began to scour the dry language for important personality cues he knew to look out for.

He woke in darkness with an ache in his neck and an errant pen mark on his notes. The file had fallen and scattered its pages on the floor and beneath the coffee table. He grunted in displeasure and slapped the notebook and pen onto the coffee table and pushed himself from the chair with all the grace of an arthritic elderly man. The mess left for the morning, he turned off the radio and staggered to bed, the towel tugged off and dropped by the side of the bed. He winced at the sensation of cold sheets against his bare skin and regretted the loss of Riza there to warm him up - she would have reminded him to eat something before starting in on those dull personnel files, too. With an empty belly and arms, he curled up with his pillow and fell promptly back to sleep.

Sunlight shined brightly through his eyelids and gradually woke him up in stages. He first tried to shut his eyes tighter against the light and bury his face in the pillow, but something nagged at him. Wasn't he supposed to be at work by the time the sun was this bright? No, the alarm would have awakened him, and if not the alarm, then Riza herself. But something felt off. Something niggled in the back of his mind, and it was the ache in his scalp that reminded him of the tree. He jerked awake and looked at the clock. He had forgotten to set it before bed last night! Riza will be furious if he wasn't ready when she arrived to pick him up!

Roy flew out of bed and threw on his uniform, hurriedly readying himself for the day. Coffee and breakfast were skipped in favor of cleaning up the mess he left on the floor last night and gathering the files. Everything ready, he checked outside for the car. Nothing yet. Breathing a sigh of relief that his mistake would remain a secret, he slid into the seat by the window and waited.

And waited.

Roy checked his watch and the clock again and again. Something was wrong. If she were sick or going to be late, she would have called him by now. His mouth set in a line, he pulled the phone over and called her home. It rang unanswered. He hung up and waited another fifteen minutes until he was half an hour late for work already, then called the office.

"Havoc, is Hawkeye there?"

A short pause.

"i was afraid of that. Bring a car around to my house right away. Something's wrong."

* * *

Consciousness wasn't something she could simply grab onto and have in her possession. In fact, she wasn't sure exactly when she came to, or if she was actually awake at all. What she did realize was that she was staring at a bare wood plank wall to her left and that her eyes were dry. Hawkeye blinked slowly and saw the afterimage of the wall behind her eyelids. She opened her bleary eyes again and turned her head to the light source; a bare bulb hung from the center of the ceiling with a delicate ball chain dangling next to it. Nothing hurt; her body felt heavy, warm, and comfortable. Her mind was sluggish. Nothing felt alarming or important, and she barely even cared where she was or why she was there. It felt as if she had lain there for hours.

"You awake yet?"

The voice came from her right. Hawkeye slowly rolled her head in that direction, the tight pull of her neck muscles informing her that she hadn't moved from her position in a while. A man - no, _the_ man, the one that had trounced her in the bathroom - sat in a padded office chair, a leg crossed casually in front of him. Beside him stood a plain table with nothing but a leather bound book and a few pens on it. Licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue, Hawkeye tried to speak, but all that came out was a soft groan.

The uniformed officer smiled without humor. "People pay good money for that stuff, enjoy it while you can."

Since it took too much energy to look away, Hawkeye studied her captor. His brown hair parted neatly down the center of his scalp, hanging straight with gentle twin arches on his brow. His shoulder insignia was not visible from her position, but she could see that the uniform was immaculate, and if she were close enough, she would probably find even his fingernails neatly trimmed. By all appearances he was an upstanding soldier - if one could ignore his intense eyes. Even through her drugged fog, Hawkeye found them disquieting. They were so very much like her father's eyes. If she had met him in another situation, she would admit he wasn't hard on the eyes. Yet somehow he did seem familiar.

Hawkeye cleared her dry throat and tried again. "Who are you?" she asked in a cracking voice. Damn, how long had she been here? "Where am I?"

The man picked up a pen and spun it in his hand, watching her clinically. He didn't speak right away, seeming to weigh his answer in his mind. "Major Bryant Reese," he eventually replied. "The Toxic Alchemist. My specialty is turning anything into a toxic state or a toxin into a neutral state. And you are somewhere to the north of Central. The basement of a house whose owner was shipped out to the Drachman border not too long ago."

That was... much more information than she expected. Hawkeye blinked in confusion. She tried to move, pulling her legs but finding resistance and a tighter feeling around her ankles. Looking away from the Major, she found her wrists were also bound, tied tightly with rope to the brass headboard above her.

"Why did you take me here?"

Reese smirked and grabbed the pen mid-spin. "That is the important question. You have something I need, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Now, I don't have anything against you personally. It's a shame you had to get involved in this at all." In his sincerity, the smirk fell from his face and he leaned forward in earnest.

"If there were any other options, I would have taken them. But Mustang is known for turning away apprentices and there is no other Flame Alchemist in the world, so..." He shrugged and moved to stand.

Hawkeye watched him move to the foot of her bed. "But I'm not an alchemist, why would you come to me?"

"I saw you at the military ball. The one dance you had with Colonel Mustang, and that high-backed sleeveless white dress you wore."

Already Hawkeye's eyes widened with growing horror, knowing what he was leading up to.

As he spoke, Reese brushed his hand over the metal of the footboard on the bed and bent to untie one foot, pull it to the other side, retie it, and repeat the same process with her other leg. She was still too drugged to put up a struggle.

"Another dancing pair waltzed too close to you with a bit too much energy and tore the material from around your neck, and a good portion of your tattoo was made visible. I saw your burn scar, the flaming eye and salamander transmutation circle that is on Mustang's gloves, and how quickly the two of you recovered your back and disappeared."

That explained why he felt familiar. The annual military ball held nearly a month ago for all the new transfers and old guard to mingle and get better acquainted. Her dress had torn exactly as he described, but she thought - or hoped - that the significance of her markings had gone unnoticed. What were the chances that after so many years of being careful, that in one moment, in an unavoidable accident, it would end up just as they had feared. Worse, actually. Hawkeye closed her eyes in as much misery as the numbing drugs allowed.

"What are you doing?" She opened her eyes as he untied the rope from a bar of the headboard and pulled her to the other side of the bed. With her legs crossed she was now forced to roll on her side, but he was already untying the other rope and pulling it under her arm to the opposite side.

"Turning you over, of course. I'd prefer to get right to business now that you're awake."

He pinned her brown shirt up at her shoulders, the back straps of her bra tucked to her sides and out of the way, which left her entire back bare. The drugs prevented a shiver at his touch that slid down from her scar to the dip of her lower back.

"It's gone. Enough was burned away to hide the secret forever." Hawkeye sighed in resignation. "Might as well kill me now." After revealing so much, so freely, there was no doubt in her mind he had no intention to keep her alive.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you if I can help it." Reese bent low beside her and opened a trunk she could not see from her vantage point on the bed. The next sensation Hawkeye felt were drops of something cold and wet on her shoulder, then a soft cloth spreading and wiping it from her scarred flesh. "That is up to you and Mustang. You didn't do anything wrong, so why punish you? And it isn't gone entirely.

"Tattoos include a variety of metals. Titanium and aluminum are often used as colorants in tattoos; inks using nonmetal colorants may include traces of antimony, arsenic, beryllium, chromium, cobalt, lead, nickel, and selenium. If you had been burned enough to completely destroy all of those elements, there would be nothing left of you. They're still in there, and I am going to bring them to the surface using a bit of ferrofluid to enhance it so the writing can be seen clearly."

The cleaning cloth was tossed aside and he withdrew another bottle of red liquid from the trunk, pulled the cork top from it and dipped a finger in. "Colloidal silver with red dye," he explained as he carefully traced what felt like a transmutation circle on her back. "The silver will help prevent infection. A little." With that step completed, the cork and bottle were replaced and he pulled out a thick bottle of a grayish-black substance. Reese unscrewed the cap and dripped it all around her shoulder and back.

Hawkeye could hear the splatter of a thick liquid hitting her bare skin, but remained enough in her heavy drugged haze to not respond to the slight feeling of wetness trickling across her flesh. "I don't get you. You know no one will let you get away with this. Why would you let me live?" Damn, what she wouldn't give to have a single hand free and a gun right then. That, and some sort of antidote to clear this haze over her mind and body.

"I believe I can provide a good argument for the both of you to do nothing," he replied smoothly. "Now brace yourself. I'm afraid this is going to hurt."

The alchemist touched his fingertips inside the transmutation circle. Silver light filled the room. The metallic fluid began to sink into her scarred skin. Hawkeye gasped out a pained cry and pulled hard against the ropes holding her in place. It felt like acid burned away at her skin, the electrically charged metals moving in it as if her flesh were liquefied. It might very well be; at that point, it was hard for her to tell. Hawkeye twisted on the bed as if trying to get away from a burning brand at first until she got a firmer hold of herself and bit down hard on the quilt beneath her to help hold still. This pain rivaled the pain of her back being burned by Mustang. After an endless minute, it gradually tapered down and stopped. A burning, raw feeling remained, but this time it wasn't nearly as bad as the infusion of metal nor Mustang's burn. Hawkeye gasped into the quilt, eyes barely open and watery with the tears she refused to let flow.

"I waited until you were awake before I did that. It would be a rude wake-up call, don't you think?"

* * *

Second Lieutenant Havoc hadn't even stopped the car before Mustang opened the door and threw some files onto the middle of the seat. He plopped down into the passenger seat and closed the door hard behind him.

"Sir?" he asked tentatively.

Eyes locked forward, he spoke in a hushed yet firm tone. "Hawkeye's home. Now. She didn't come to pick me up and she isn't answering her phone. Something's wrong."

It was a mantra in his head: _Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong. _He tried to direct his mind into more productive directions, but it always went back into that constant repetition that even his pounding heart seemed to pick up and repeat: _Something's wrong. Something's wrong._

But she was a strong woman, he tried to reason with himself as he watched the streets they passed for signs of a car wreck. She can handle herself, he'd seen her take down opponents twice her size. She was alright. She had to be.

_Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong._

**AN**: I'm going to work on this fic casually while working on other projects. This will have lots of shorter chapters and I believe may have two parts, the second part being an entirely separate fic. I am still working on PS. It is being beta'd now and the next chapters are partially finished... I'm just writing them backwards, which makes giving you the next chapter harder, obviously. But don't worry, nothing is being neglected!


	3. Chapter 3: What Drives Us On

**Disclaimer:** If I owned FMA, Roy would have lost his shirt more than once.

**Chapter 3**

An unknowable amount of time passed as Hawkeye laid still on the bed and Reese's calloused fingertip traced the intricate design on her bare back bit by bit. The surprisingly gentle touch paused for the scribble of a pen then began again in the study of the tattoo's intricate design, and the pattern repeated countless times. He focused on the recovered part first, but when she flinched under his touch, he avoided contact with that area. It was becoming inflamed fast. Her back felt hot and throbbed from the disruption of flesh. As soon as he finished with the injured area, he covered it with a cool, damp cloth and continued on to the rest. Almost an hour after the trauma of the transmutation, Hawkeye fell into a light, exhausted sleep while the alchemist finished his work.

Her lashes parted slowly, then blinked to clear her vision. Pulling on the ropes attached to her wrists and ankles, she found them still very much secure. She forced herself to relax with a heavy sigh of resignation and looked around. The drug seemed to have cleared out of her system for the most part.

"You're awake."

"Unfortunately."

"Just a little more patience, Lieutenant Hawkeye, and I'll be done here. I've copied everything to scale and this is the third time I've checked that everything is exact and precice."

She bit her lower lip lightly and stared at his knee and booted foot propped on the table. "Then what?"

"I'll close up shop here and drop you off at a pay phone. With a few cenz, don't worry. By the time someone comes to pick you up, I'll be long gone."

"And when they follow you?"

Reese set his pen down and straightened up beside her.

"It's time to lay down the game plan, then." He cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water that was sitting on top of the closed trunk.

Hawkeye swallowed through a dry throat and suddenly realized her own thirst.

He paused before it touched his lips. "Do you want a glass?"

"No," she answered coldly, not about to accept favors from the enemy as she was trained - or perhaps just to spite.

He nodded and sipped from the glass, then set it back half emptied. "Now, you and Colonel Mustang are aware that a great many people would like to get their hands on the power of flame alchemy. Most of those will not be as kind as I am and leave you alive - or recognizable. Just like the Colonel, they will want to erase any chance of someone else knowing the secret and becoming a rival. So, to protect myself, and only that, I had some copies of a little announcement prepared stating that the secret of flame alchemy is on Riza Hawkeye's back."

She clenched her fists. He continued in a hurry.

"They were not released! Not yet anyway. They will never be released unless I either disappear, die, or am arrested for any reason. They are with trusted associates and as long as no one makes a move against me, your secret is safe. Life for all of us will go on as before, and I will walk away peaceably as a flame alchemist. I will never reveal where I learned it."

"So I am your permanent hostage?" Came her biting retort. "I won't allow you to use me to control the Colonel. I'd rather leave the military or be hunted than let you control him."

"I am well aware of that, Lieutenant," he answered, resignation in his voice. "That is why I know better than to push it. I give you my word that I won't hold the sword over either of you about anything other than this. Just let me go my way and I will let you go yours, and we can pretend none of this ever happened. Think about it, Lieutenant. Talk it over with him. You two have worked too hard to throw it all away, I'm sure, especially if you went to such lengths to cover this up."

She mulled it over briefly. "Even if we did agree to it, he won't allow you to get away with anything after this. You'll be watched closely."

Reese picked up the pen and leaned over her back again. "I know, and I can live with that. I'm sure we'll part ways soon enough. I'm eager to get back to New Optain, anyway."

There was nothing else to do but lay there, so Hawkeye decided to help the Colonel and herself and question him now. "Why are you going to these lengths? Why not find out the secret for yourself?"

Reese smiled and chuckled softly, still looking from her back to the open book on his lap and back again. "Very well. I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything, something I've never done before."

* * *

The car rolled to a stop outside Hawkeye's apartment and Mustang jumped out the door before the car had the time to shift into park. Roy spotted his car in front of them, proof that she had arrived home. Havoc followed at a run to catch up. He kept his mouth shut for once when Mustang keyed open the lock using his own key ring, for which he was grateful. This was not the time to pull an excuse out of thin air for having a key to her apartment. He pushed open the door and looked around. Her coat and waist cape weren't put up and leaves were scattered all over her floor, more than could be excused by the dog door. Knowing her, cleaning up that mess would be one of the first things she would have done once coming home.

"She was here," he muttered to Havoc at his side, "but something must have happened as soon as she arrived."

"Any idea what, Chief?" he asked, keeping his voice equally as low. He pulled his firearm from the holster at his back but kept it pointed low.

"Not yet. She has no enemies." Mustang raised a gloved hand, ready to snap, and slowly walked through the house. Leaves crunched unavoidably beneath their feet, but something about the stillness of the place made them keep their voices down.

A scratching sound froze them both. It came from the bedroom.

They moved slower, Havoc's weapon trained at the ready ahead of him. Another series of scratches were followed by a soft thud. The men exchanged glances.

"Hawkeye? Is that you? Answer me, whoever you are!" Mustang ordered.

A slow, light tapping noise came nearer to them. Both men stopped and held their respective weapons ready to fire - or ignite.

At the corner of the bedroom door, a small black and white dog wobbled toward them on unsteady legs, then fell over with another thud.

Something's wrong - something's wrong - something's wrong - !

Mustang rushed through the doorway and looked around, stepping over the dog. Everything in that room was as immaculate as ever. He ran into the bathroom and found her hair clip on the floor and the rug askew. There was nothing else. Panic and rage filled him to overflowing. He spun and found himself face-to-face with Havoc, who took a nervous step back from him.

"Someone took her!" Mustang roared.

* * *

"The trouble started during the long siege at Ishbal. There was a lot of tension in the East that was felt even in my hometown near New Optain. It's a hamlet just east of that city, so small it doesn't even have a name on any maps. My father was an alchemist and a doctor who combined some aspects of Xing medicinal alchemy with western medicine. He was the only doctor in the town. I studied under him, but my specialty leaned more towards medicines and toxins than healing the body. For example, to heal the damage done by a snakebite, he healed the punctured and damaged flesh, and I rendered the poison absolutely harmless within the body. I had a natural talent towards pharmacology. We were saving up what we could from my father's practice to send me to college and earn a formal degree.

"I was sixteen. There was a plague that mysteriously appeared and devastated the village. It affected mostly the young, caused complete respiratory failure. It was all my father and I could do to keep up with it, but half the time we were forced to watch our patients, our neighbors, drown in their own beds. Working together, we found a way to heal the plague's damage and slow the virus' progress enough to give the patient time to recover. But it required the both of us: my medicines and my father's unique way of healing." He let out a long, drawn out sigh. "Then the military decided they needed him more than our village. We had just made some headway, dammit! If he left then, the plague would wipe out the town. He constantly refused. They wouldn't take no for an answer.

"One of my closest friends caught the plague and was deteriorating fast. His family came for us in a panic in the middle of the night to treat him again, and when we arrived we knew that if we didn't slow it successfully then, he would not make it to morning. And then the military stormed in, right there in the family's home."

He voice dropped to a growl, but he swallowed and tapped his pencil on the table until the story seemed to flow from him more calmly. He seemed relieved to get this off his chest despite the emotion in his voice that caused it to tremble from time to time.

"The family and I refused to let him be torn away from my friend's bedside, and the commanding officer demanded he leave with them immediately. There was a fight. Somehow, no one knows how, my father received a fatal blow to the head. I lost my friend, my father, and my tolerance for military rule that night.

"So, without my father's help, the plague eradicated over half my town. Even doing my best, there was little I could do. The fault laid with the military. So I decided to protect what was left of the town, including my mother, from any further threat. To do that, I had to join the military itself and work from the inside, as much as I loathed it. Knowing they appreciate alchemists that can be used as a weapon more than any other kind, I focused my studies on toxins and poisons, then took the state alchemist exam. I passed. I became the Toxic Alchemist and used the research money to get my doctorate.

"But it wasn't enough. I needed something that caused more damage to protect my town. Oh, I tried to lean fire alchemy myself. I have a lot of experience with air molecules. But when I changed the air into something flammable..." He chuckled and brushed the first two fingers of one hand over each brow. "All I ended up doing was losing my eyebrows and my favorite shirt. A child can make an out-of-control fireball. I needed control and direction. There was something important I was missing, something Roy Mustang has and will not share.

"And here we are. That's my story. I'm not looking for sympathy, but I hope you'll see that I'm not just a power hungry monster. All I want is to protect my home and what's left of my family, and I will not fail them. Desperate times require desperate measures, Lieutenant."

Hawkeye listened to it all without a word, committing it to memory. Even decent men and women can be driven to acts of violence when pushed far enough. That didn't mean she accepted the story. As soon as she was freed, she would check whatever was on record to validate his testimony.

"So you would go to any lengths to achieve your goals, make any sacrifices? Kill me, kill my dog-"

"I didn't kill the dog," he interrupted. "I just drugged him. He'll be up and about by now, absolutely fine. And I already said I didn't want to kill you. Let's just try not to escalate this, okay?" Reese closed the book and tucked the pen away. "We're done."

It took him a few minutes to have everything packed back into his trunk, and a few minutes more for him to haul it upstairs and secured in his car. When he stomped back down the creaking wood stairs and appeared at her side, he seemed to be in a much lighter mood.

"Now!" he said brightly, rubbing his hands together. "Time to get you in the car. I'm going to reactive the drug in your body for the duration of the trip to keep things peaceful. I'll deactivate it once you're in the booth." He pulled out a necklace from under his shirt and touched the hanging metal array. It lit up with the same silver glow as before, and he lightly touched her back with both hands.

Hawkeye silently fumed at the treatment and tensed at his touch, but it moved aside temporarily for astonishment as the same heavy feeling as before quickly washed over her. Unbidden, her body relaxed and she let out a held breath. The drugged haze wasn't as heavy as it was before, but it ensured she wouldn't be able to put up a struggle. Reese clasped the bra closed and pulled her shirt down, then untied her. Hawkeye groaned and rubbed at her face, trying and failing to rouse herself. Her sluggish mind didn't help matters.

Reese grasped her arm firmly and helped her to her feet, holding her steady as she staggered a few steps. She felt she should try and take control of the situation, but she moved as if she were heavily drunken and with the conditions he set, there didn't seem to be any point. Even if he were arrested, that would only be the start of their real trouble. So for now she allowed herself to be led up the stairs, through the house, and into the car.

She spent the duration of the ride slumped against the car door and stared out the window with eyes at half mast. The morning sun seemed much brighter than usual and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yesterday's wind left the sky a bright and clear blue.

He took a direct route to a pay phone he probably planned to use ahead of time and stopped in front of it. He walked around to her side and opened her door slowly, giving her time to adjust and sit up, then helped Hawkeye out. He supported her the few steps across the sidewalk into the open booth and he eased her down to a sitting position on the floor. A hand slipped into his pants pocket and pulled out a few cenz which he left on top of the phone itself. Finally, he touched the metal charm around his neck to activate the array, then touched her head with both hands. Almost immediately her mind began to clear. She blinked a few times and shook her head, reaching up to press her palm to her temple.

"Please remember our arrangement, Lieutenant Hawkeye. I meant everything I said. I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you. I'll see you in a few weeks, I have some leave to put to use."

She looked up in time to see him wave and flash a smirking smile, then turn away. Seconds later his car roared away from the curb and disappeared from view.

The woozy feeling dissipated quickly. Within a couple minutes she could pull herself up in the booth and, leaning against the side for support, Hawkeye clumsily grabbed a cenz and lifted the receiver off the hook. "Central Headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang's office," she mumbled. "Tell them to connect despite the outside line; it's Lieutenant Hawkeye, an emergency call."

* * *

The ride back to Headquarters was silent. Havoc didn't need to be told to drive back as quickly as possible. His hands gripped the wheel tight enough to stretch the knuckles white the entire way back.

Meanwhile, a Mustang leaned against the window and pressed a fist to his lips. He'd made a call back to HQ from her apartment to put out an APB for Hawkeye and send an investigation team out there, but what could he do beyond that but wait for the kidnapper to contact them with demands? And he had to be at his desk for that. Whoever did this would pay dearly. He glanced at the stack of files sitting on the seat between them and laid his hand over it. At least he had something to put his mind to when he got back.

"Clear my schedule for the day," Mustang barked as soon as he stepped into the office. Havoc caught the door a second before he had a chance to slam it shut and closed it with care. He exchanged tense glances with the others in the room.

"We didn't find her, but we did find signs that-" Havoc glanced at his superior. "- That someone took her, probably drugged her. Her dog was definitely drugged, which I would take to mean that someone waited for her to come after work."

Everyone kept a close yet discrete eye on the Colonel as he slammed a stack of files onto his desk. What would he do now that someone had done the unthinkable and taken his right hand woman from him?

"I'm sorry, sir," Fuery said, his voice soft. "I volunteer to take care of Lieutenant Hawkeye's duties until she's found, and I'll clear your schedule for you."

He got a short nod for an answer. Mustang was already at his desk and glared at his phone. Dared it to ring and dared some ignorant fool to make demands in exchange for his Lieutenant. Whoever it was must not know he was playing with fire.

It rang. He snatched it up before the bell finished the first chime.

"Mustang." Hard, clipped.

Silence. He dropped his head with a huff. "Fine. I'm glad you got there, but stay off this line unless it's an emergency or you have actual, helpful news, got it?" He hung up without waiting for an answer and buried his face in his hands.

"Chief."

He lowered his hands with a sigh and turned to Havoc pulling a chewed up cigarette from his mouth.

"We'll find her and get the sunovabitch that took her, alright? This is Hawkeye we're talking about. She's tough. She can make it through anything. We already know the kidnapper wanted her alive, or he wouldn't have used drugs."

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. You're right. I just... can't stand the thought of her-"

"Don't." Havoc cut in. "Don't imagine her like that. Whatever we can imagine is probably wrong, anyway. Think about something else."

After a while, Mustang nodded marginally, let his hand fall to the top of the stack and pulled it over. She'd want him to watch his back, so he would. At least he was on the "R" s. Next name... Reese, Bryant. He opened the folder.

The phone rang a few times throughout the day. Mustang kept them short, but some continued to call. General Grumman, in particular, continued to call every hour for updates on Lieutenant Hawkeye. Knowing his relation to her, he wasn't very surprised, but annoyed all the same at any distraction from his task. He promised the General that he would be the first to know if he had any news, and the vigil continued. No one joked around or spoke casually. A grim, strained attitude hung over the office and it worsened as the hours wore on. No one dared take their lunch break and all breaks were skipped lest someone miss any news on Hawkeye.

The phone rang. It was about time for the General to call again so he answered it with a polite but short, "Colonel Mustang here."

His eyes went wide and he jerked upright in his seat. "Then put her through!" he shouted. "Put her through now!" Seconds later, "Hawkeye? Is that you?" A pause, then he collapsed onto the desk, the phone pressed hard to his ear. He remained still for nearly a minute. All activity in the office came to a halt, the rapt attention of all six men pulled to that phone. "Where?" He pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled furiously. "I'll be there in ten minutes. We'll take you to the hospital." He stood, but took no more than two steps around his desk before pulling up to an abrupt halt, his brow furrowed deeply. "What? Why?" he demanded. More tense silence and Mustang pulled his hand over his eyes. He hissed a curse. "Alright, I know what to do. I'll be there in ten." He slammed the phone down and grabbed his coat on the way out the door.

"Wait, sir-!" All five men were on their feet.

Mustang leaned back into the office while he pulled on his coat.

"Tell the General! She's alive and I'm taking her to a doctor!"

And he was gone.

**AN**: I'm not the happiest with this chapter, but here it is anyway. This chapter is here due to your reviews and favorites. Many thanks to you, especially if you leave a review! I love you the most.


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